


Moon Over Miami

by milkyway



Category: Dexter (TV), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Detectives, Domestic Derek and Stiles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Issues, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Married Couple, Murder, Murder Mystery, Police, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-27 21:24:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2707283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkyway/pseuds/milkyway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles and Derek take a trip down to Florida, Derek decides to reconnect with his long-lost cousins Debra and Dexter Morgan in Miami. Dexter is back from an eight year absence, just as a serial killer known as “The Storyteller” starts committing a string of horrific murders across the city. As Derek and Debra catch up, she faces the difficult decision whether to let Derek in on her brother’s secret, as it becomes increasingly clear that this is no mortal murderer…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I last saw her at the funeral after the fire,” said Derek. They were cruising down the state highway, windows open, Phantom Planet blaring from the speakers in the Volvo. 

“Wow. I didn’t even know you had family in Florida,” said Stiles, overtaking a sluggish truck. 

“Yeah. My father’s sisters’s children. They’re human.”

“Do they know you’re a werewolf?”

“Yes. My aunt was fully human, but since my paternal gramps was a werewolf, my father carried the trait. Anyway, they were always considered part of the pack.”

“So she married a cop and had two kids?”

“Technically, only Debra is their biological child. She has an adoptive brother, Dexter, whom I only met once when I was little. Both their folks are dead now, sadly.”

Stiles reached for a bottle of water and took a long sip. “So I believe she’s this hotshot police captain of Miami Metro?”

“Yes, followed in her father Harry’s footsteps. Dexter is apparently is a forensic analyst. We’ll meet the whole family.”

“Good Lord, we’re both flush with cops in our family. Can you imagine if my dad got together with them…”

Derek laughed. They’d spent an amazing holiday in Florida despite his misgivings about visiting theme parks. But Orlando had been an epiphany. They’d been on all the rides. Stiles was like an excited puppy and though Derek hated roller-coasters usually he had to admit Space Mountain was pretty awesome.

Presently the skyline of Miami came into view, and within an hour they had drawn up to the house in Palm Beach.

Stiles whistled. “Wow, she’s done well for a cop.”

“Captains get paid well. And she’s an excellent cop. Solved so many murders.”  
A tall, lanky brunette walked out. She ran up to Derek and hugged him.

“Derek! Oh my God! Look at you!”

“Hey, Deb, it’s been ages.”

“And who’s this sexy hunk? Fuckballs, you didn’t tell me your husband was so cute.”

Stiles blushed, and held out a hand.

“You gotta excuse Deb, she’s a bit of a motormouth,” said a tall greying man in a striped shirt walking up to Deb and putting his arm around you. “I’m Joey Quinn, Deb’s husband.”

“What’s this handshaking business,” Deb said, now hugging Stiles. “I need all the family I can get these days. Of course,” she continued, patting her belly, “there’s this creature coming.”

“Oh my God, you’re pregnant?” said Derek, gently touching the bulge on her tummy.

“Yes, four months. I just got over the morning sickness and now the heartburn has started. But let’s get you settled before we all get sunburnt. Follow me.”

After Stiles and Derek had settled into the guest bedroom they had a lazy lunch on Deb’s patio overlooking the ocean. She wouldn’t stop talking, and Derek was afraid she might divulge the supernatural nature of things in Beacon Hills. Joey obviously didn’t know, and neither did Dexter.”

Presently Deb’s cellphone bleeped.

“Oh shit, it’s work. Why are they bothering on a fucking off day?”

“Better answer, babe,” said Joey. “Or you’re just going to fume all afternoon.”

“Captain Debra Morgan speaking.”

“Deb!” said a honeyed Cuban voice on the other side. “It’s Angel. Sorry to bother you on your off day, but we’ve got a double homicide.”

“Okay, but surely you can deal with that?”

“Um, it’s complicated… Dexter complicated?”

“Fucknuts,” she said, excusing herself. She walked into the house, nervous. Batista had come to know about Dexter’s true nature, and had… oddly… accepted it with aplomb. On some level he always knew.

*

“Okay, Angel. Are you saying we need Dex to…”

“Take out the trash. This is one of the sickest things I’ve ever seen. Can you come over? Dex is already on his way.”

“But he and Harrison and Lumen are having a picnic!”

“I asked him for a favour.”

“Okay, okay,” Debra said. “But you owe me three Mojitos. Lieutenant Batista.”

“Yes, captain,” said Angel, and rang off.

*

“Fuck me sideways with a lamp-post,” said Debra, as she walked to the crime scene. Two bodies were lying in a pool of dark blood, clearly arranged in a tableau. The man was wearing lederhosen and some type of traditional dress. He was holding the woman’s hand who was wearing a similarly historic dress. She had on a blonde wig with pigtails. It looked like someone had crossed a scene of The Shining with The Sound of Music.

And to top it all off…

“Are those… candy bars?” Debra said, pointing at the odd objects shoved in their mouths and surrounding them.

“Yes,” said Batista, shaking his head. “Um. And there’s more. Cupcakes. Chocolate. M&Ms.”

“Hey Deb,” said Dexter, walking up to his sister with a smile. Lately, Deb swore he had all the emotions of an ordinary human. He could laugh loudly, giggle, cry and throw tantrums. Something had happened to him overseas, after the disastrous affair with Hannah. He and Harrison left Argentina, but then he found Lumen in France. And suddenly they were married in a small church in Bordeaux. And now they were back.

Dexter smiled broadly, in spite of the horrific scene, but Deb knew it was because he was happy to see his sister.

It was as if nothing had changed… except for the absence of death and destruction. Dexter still let his Dark Passenger out now and then, but now that Batista and Quinn were in on it, they discreetly passed on unsolved cases to him which he usually solved (and dispatched the evildoers) with a 99% success rate. Deb knew Dex was finally happy, a good father and husband, with a good income having been promoted to Chief Forensic Consultant at the Metro within a year. He was completing a PhD in Forensic Science and was practically a celebrity with his knack of solving major cases that didn’t need his, er, special brand of attention.

In short, no-one had suspected the Bay Harbor Butcher had been back for a year. 

Deb hugged her brother briefly. “Sorry to hear about your picnic being ruined, but if it’s any consolation, my lunch has also fucked out.”

“Oh yes. Did your cousin Derek arrive?”

“Yeah. So great to see him. I’m so happy you guys will becoming over for dinner tonight, we need more family in our lives.”

“Want me to bring some wine?”

“Definitely. Now before it gets all weird with us discussing wine choices over a murder scene, what’s your take on this clusterfuck?”

“It seems they were murdered elsewhere and placed here.”

“But the pool of blood?”

“The blood seems to have been collected and poured over them after they were arranged,” said Dexter. “No splatter marks. Two deep wounds in the back of their heads, consistent with an ax.”

“But it would be difficult to get blood out to collect from the head wounds, surely?”

“That’s the thing,” said Dexter. “Look here.”

He carefully pulled down the one side of the man’s trousers, revealing two deep puncture marks.

“It’s the same on the woman. It’s as if their blood was sucked out… and judging from their pallor, they were completely exsanguinated.”

“Holy fuck.”

“Beats me. But this was obviously elaborately planned. No ID on the victims yet. Someone just discovered them in this alley an hour ago, which is why we called you. It’s going to be all over the news.”

Deb sighed. “And, now I have to field a whole media circus… Miami’s so primed for weird shit these days.”

Please don’t let it be a serial killer, Debra thought. We’ve been free of these fucks for a while now. I don’t want the old days back. 

It took a while to ascertain the scene, but Batista was grateful to have Deb’s backing. After all, he knew she had intimate understanding of crime scenes like this. Hopefully it was a once-off.. but given Miami’s track record: the Ice Truck Killer, Trinity, Doomsday, The Brain Surgeon… the extravagance of this incident was going to put a toll on his team.

“Thanks, Deb,” he said after they’d done collecting most of the evidence.

“No problem. I’m going home to get drunk vicariously with my family.”

“Enjoy,” said Batista.

*

Dexter called saying he would be late. Deb took the opportunity to catch up with Derek and get to know Stiles. Quinn went out shopping, so she stretched out by the pool with the two visitors from Beacon Hills. 

“So,” she said, knocking back the last of her Tab “just so we’re clear, guys. I know Derek’s a werewolf and you, Stiles, you’re some kind of magician?”

“A Red,” said Stiles, smiling. “Basically a sorcerer in service of a pack.”

“My God, Derek, the sex must be amazing… a werewolf and a magician…and Stiles is a doctor!”

Derek choked on his whisky, and Stiles blushed purple.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry. Joey keeps telling me I have no filter. And I’m just a bag of pregnancy hormones these days so my brain’s gone soft.”

“It’s okay, Deb,” said Derek when he had recovered. “That’s definitely my father’s side of the family coming through. He was always such a joker.”

“I’m still so horrified of the fire when I think of it. But I believe you guys dealt with that bitch who did it properly… your Uncle Peter I recall?”

Derek shivered, recalling that terrible time. “Let’s just say I’m glad it’s over. Anyway. A toast. To family.”

“Salut!” said Stiles, and the three clinked their glasses together. 

“Oh, that must be Joey,” said Debra, as she heard the SUV pull into the garage. “So, I’m the only one who knows, neither Dexter nor Joey know about your, er, supernatural side. And I’m sworn to secrecy.”

“I know, Deb,” said Derek. “Anyway, let Stiles and I go make ourselves useful in the kitchen.”

*

Even Debra was surprised the way Dexter hit it off with Derek and Stiles. Then again, the werewolf and his mate seemed the cutest couple she’d ever come across. Lumen and Stiles in particular went from 0-200 mph, when they discovered they were both Star Wars geeks. 

It was a lovely dinner: Debra, Joey, Stiles, Derek, Dexter, Lumen and Harrison, who was turning into a strapping young teen. 

“So, I believe you were called to a gruesome murder scene?” said Stiles, passing around the salad. 

“Hey, Stiles,” Derek said. “She probably can’t talk about it.”

“It’s okay,” said Deb, “we’ve just released a formal statement to the press. They’ve found the names of the victims. They were brother and sister. Horrific, and I’ve seen some crazy shit before.”

Me too, thought Stiles, though mine are usually of the undead variety.

Derek grimaced as Debra relayed the gruesome details.

“And,” Dexter piped up, “it turns out they were force-fed a whole lot of confectionery while they were still alive.”

“Holy crap, really?” said Deb.

“Yeah, the coroner just let me know. You wouldn’t believe it… their stomachs were full of gingerbread.”

“Gingerbread?”

“Yes. Fucking gingerbread.”

“I, um, am going to make some coffee,” said Lumen, clearly not happy to hear any more details.

“Sorry, love,” said Dexter.

“Not a problem,” she said, kissing her redhead husband on the cheek. He flushed with happiness.

Dex is so happy, thought Deb. And this makes me happy. And my long-lost family. At least some happiness has come out of today.

“God, it sounds like some twisted version of Hansel and Gretel,” said Stiles suddenly.

“What did you say?” said Debra, her mouth agape.

“Hansel and Gretel,” said Stiles. “You know, the lederhosen, brother and sister, sweets, gingerbread…”

“Holy fucking shitballs,” said Deb. “You’re absolutely right! The killer was enacting a fairy tale!”

“Oh my God,” said Dexter. “You’re right. Well done, Stiles, you’re obviously an excellent detective like your dad.”

Dexter and Debra gave each other a knowing stare.

Evil is back in Miami, they both thought. And it’s just going to get worse.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dexter takes out some trash while Derek and Stiles have difficulty coping with the heat and humidity.

“I can’t sleep,” said Derek, throwing off the covers. 

“Me neither,” said Stiles, yawning. They were both covered in sweat. The Miami humidity was thick; no wind. The feeble blades of the fan brought little relief.

Derek sat up. “I’ve never coped well with hot weather.”

“I would imagine werewolves don’t as a rule. Are there many in Miami?”

“Not much, as far as I know,” said Derek, ruffling his mate’s hair. “There are very few in the tropics, for example.”

“I guess you follow the range of the wolf,” Stiles replied, nodding. “Are you enjoying the holiday?”

“Definitely,” said Derek. “I’ve always wanted to do a road-trip across the country. And you know I coped well in Thailand. As long as there’s ocean we can swim in.”

“Well, Deb said we’ll all go to the beach tomorrow. Except of course, she might have to work on the case.”

Derek blew out his cheeks. “She has to deal with some hectic stuff. And I don’t know what Dexter has to see every day either. I wouldn’t cope.”

“Really, Sourwolf?” Stiles said, cocking his head. “You’re an alpha werewolf and have ripped demons to shreds.”

“Demons, exactly,” said Derek. “Not humans. I could never do that to a human or anything innocent.”

“Fair enough. I see the Big Bad Wolf is actually a softie.”

“You know that,” said Derek, smirking. 

“God, I didn’t think our holiday would end up with a murder investigation.”

“Do you think…”

“It might be a serial killer? Well, as my dad says, three’s a pattern. But this thing sounded elaborate. And totally creeperville.”

“Yeah,” said Derek. “Anyway, we’re here to enjoy our holiday. If it gets hectic for Deb we can always drive down to the Keys earlier. But it’s been so great seeing her.”

Stiles rubbed Derek’s back. “I know. She’s awesome! So good to see you reconnecting with family. When are you going to Rio to see Cora?”

“You mean, when are we going?” asked Derek, smiling. “You’d never pass up an opportunity to drink cocktails on the Copacabana.”

“Fair enough. Our next holiday?”

Derek nodded. “I think so. Anyway, I’m gonna take a cool shower.”

“I’ll join you,” said Stiles.

 

*

Dexter hadn’t had much sleep either.

But this was his own doing. He’d been stalking her for months. Prof Fallwell had murdered 36 children over her tenure as the head of Paediatric Critical Care at the hospital. It had been so easy: winning over the confidence of the parents, knowing that one of the best physicians in the world was watching over their critically ill child. And then, potassium would quietly be injected into the infusions, or local anaesthetic that would slow down and then stop the heart. The deaths would happen well after her ward rounds.

And the resident would be blamed, and Jessica Fallwell would still receive a thank-you from the devastated parents.

“We did all that we could,” she’d say gently, stroking their arms.

The worst was, Dexter thought as his stomach turned, is that she’d actually nursed the children back to the point of health. And they’d always died of “natural causes”, so their was no coroner’s investigation.

But Dexter had a knack. And though it was “black ops” as it were, with the network of those in the know, a little flesh sample here and there from bodies that were quietly dug up… well, let’s just say that some molecules never decompose. 

The tall woman stirred underneath the plastic wrapping, eyes popping with horror. Dexter’s face hovered above her. He sliced open the plastic over her face.

“What? Where… oh my God.”

“Ms Falwell.”

“It’s Professor Falwell,” she managed to say.

“Ah, another sign you’re a psychopath. Narcissism even at the point of death. But you’ve been caught out.”

She twitched, unable to move properly the way she had been tied down.

“How…”

“See these children?” Dexter said, pointing to the collage of the victims assembled on the walls of the kill room. “Alice Munroe. Keith Harrison. Gerald Menzies. Antonio Vasquez. That little one was four months old.”

“You can’t prove it.”

“Oh really? Let’s see. Your favourite method was bupivacaine in the IV fluid. I imagine with some potassium chloride. And it would infuse slowly, and bupivacaine doesn’t show up on a blood gas analysis.”

“They needed help,” she said suddenly. “And I’m the best person for that.”

“They were little children!” Dexter roared. “And they would have survived!”

“You can’t take me out,” she said calmly. “Who will be able to fill my shoes as Professor? No-one has my experience.”

“Fuck you,” Dexter said. “You are a cold-blooded killer. Admit it. You enjoy the power.”

“I deserve the power,” she said, but sweat trickled down her forehead. “We’re the same. You kill too.”

“Only trash. And those who hurt children… you know, you freaks are the only ones I really still enjoy taking out. I would have wanted to hand you over to the police, to see you humiliated… but sadly you hid things too well for them. But not from me. But one thing will come out…”

“What?” she snapped.

“Your faked results. That autism-measles bullshit you resurrected.”

Her eyes went wide.

“Oh yes. 42 publications of yours will be revealed as fraudulent in the paediatric literature. You see, sadly, you kept too much data on your personal computer on how you had tweaked the results. I’ve emailed the report to the relevant universities already.”

Fallwell went pale. “No!”

“Your legacy is fucked, bitch,” he said. “I’m going to enjoy watching you die.”

He produced a syringe.

“Bupivicaine and suxamethonium and potassium chloride. It’s gonna hurt like hell. And you’ll be awake, feeling yourself drown and unable to breathe. Goodbye, Professor Death Bitch. They’ll find you back in your apartment with your suicide note explaining all.”

He jabbed the needle into her bulging jugular. She tried to scream, but then the twitching of the muscle relaxant took over and shortly she was limp.

“I know you can still hear me,” he said. “Listen to the names of your victims as you die.”

He recited the litany of all 36, and then proceeded to deal with the post-death proceedings.

When he had finished, the sky was lightening over the ocean. He walked to his car, feeling a great relief that the bitch was gone. But then a wave of sadness came over Dexter. He burst into tears, sobbing, convulsing.

He was crying for the loss of those children. For the poor parents. For his Harrison, sitting in a pool of his mother’s blood. For little Dexter himself, all those years ago. 

Dexter cried regularly now, and laughed too. His Dark Passenger was still there, but had now taken a back seat. Dexter was human… mostly. Emotions. Strange things at first, but now part of him.

Dexter had finally learned to love. 

And killing didn’t give him that acute pleasure anymore. He had to rationalise it. But greater good and all. His network understood. Lumen, Debra, Batista, Quinn. Would Harrison ever find out? And how would he react? Because Harrison was not Dexter at all… there was not a vestige of psychopath in him.

But it was unwise to ruminate on possible future disaster.

For now, Miami was delivered of evil. Still, as he flopped into bed next to Lumen, he felt an uneasy twinge in his belly that more was to come.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another horrific murder occurs, and Derek and Stiles suspect there might be something odd about Dexter.

“Fuck.”

Derek and Stiles looked at Deb, who threw down her cellphone on the breakfast counter in irritation.

“What’s wrong?” asked Stiles.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckety-ass-cock fuck fuck fuck.”

“Was that your colleagues?” asked Derek diplomatically while his cousin folded her arms and fumed.

“Yes. Guess what.”

“Another murder?” asked Stiles somewhat too excitedly through a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

Debra nodded. “I can’t even have breakfast without work butting in! And yes, it’s another elaborate one.”

“Hansel and Gretel?” asked Derek.

Deb shook her head. “But something just as elaborate. I guess I gotta go. I’m not sure I know what time I’ll be back, but Lumen said she’ll meet you guys at the beach with Harrison at noon for lunch? Hopefully I can make it for a swim later, it’s hotter than Satan’s balls.”

Derek tried not to smile. “Of course, cuz. We can look after ourselves.”

“I’ll ask Dex if he can take us out on his boat a bit later, maybe a sunset cruise.”

“Awesome,” said Stiles. “I’ll bring booze and make Mojitos!”

Deb smirked and grabbed her car keys. “Hold on to this one, Derek,” she said as she walked out of the house. “He’s a keeper.”

 

*

 

It was just what she had thought, and worse.

This time, she recognised the fairy tale instantly.

Another couple: drained of blood from the femoral arteries, lying in a lake of their entire cardiac output. They were arranged so that the male was holding the female. His face had been burnt unrecognisably: acid. She had been made up with elaborate make up, her hair done. She clutched a red rose.

_Beauty and the Beast_.

“What can I say,” said Dex, rubbing his eyes.

“I think I said enough four letter words on the way to make up for both of us,” his sister replied.

“There’s no foreign DNA on either of yesterday’s bodies,” Dex said, “that’s all I’ve got so far.” He yawned and stretched himself.

“Why do you look so fucked?” asked Deb.

“Up all night.”

“Doing what? Oh…”

Dex nodded surreptitiously.

“Who?” Deb asked, frowning.

“You’ll hear the reports of a suicide of a certain prominent professor of paediatrics later.”

“Ah, that bitch?” said Deb. “Good riddance. And thanks, I guess. This will bring closure to a lot of the families who were so baffled that their kids died so suddenly.”

“I’m gonna go sleep as soon as I’ve processed the new batch of DNA swabs,” Dex said, changing the subject. He still felt awkward that Deb and Batista and Quinn were in on it. “I’d really like to see you all at the beach later.”

“I just hope I can sort out this fuckload of paperwork; and I’m gonna have to call a press conference all on my own. Batista and Quinn will probably be involved sorting out the Professor’s suicide.”

“No prob. Would you be able to join your wife and son with Derek and Stiles?”

“Absolutely. I love that we’re reconnecting. Tell me, do you think I have to be careful around Derek?”

Debra shivered slightly. “What do you mean?” Could psychopaths pick up vibes from supernatural creatures? Derek was pretty low-key, even for an alpha.

“Well, Derek’s a therapist, and his speciality is troubled teenagers.”

“Dex, you’re the cuddliest psychopath I’ve ever known. He’s not… Dr Vogel. And why don’t you take us out on the boat at sunset. Stiles is apparently gonna make Mojitos. Virgin for me of course.”

Dex nodded. “Good idea. But not Bay Harbour. Just in case.”

Deb rolled her eyes. “Go home and sleep, big bro.”

*

The picnic lunch was leisurely. Lumen had cooked up a storm: egg sandwiches, cold roast chicken, salad. She and Derek sat under the umbrella chatting while Harrison and Stiles played frisbee on the beach. Dexter’s son was filling out, on that cusp between boy and teenager. Derek had turned into his usual worrying grandmother, making sure Harrison and Stiles were covered in SPF 50, which really was only a necessity for Stiles, whose pale skin shone in the Florida sunlight like a silver beacon. 

Presently Dexter walked up to them.

“Hey,” he said, bending down to kiss Lumen. He patted Derek on the back.

“Glad you slept in,” said Lumen. “Come eat, you must be starved.”

Dex sat down, crossing his legs. Derek suddenly stiffened.

What was it? 

He sniffed surreptitiously. It was very faint, but unmistakeable. Sharp, with a sickeningly sweet body, almost like formaldehyde, but darker.

_Death_.

But not just death.

_Evil_. _As in witches. As in demons._

He knew Dexter was a forensics expert; perhaps it was just a confusion. Alphas weren’t magic workers. It could just be that the horrific murder scene had left a trace on Dexter. Negative energy often hung around where people had died unnaturally, as the disturbance between the interface this world and the next slowly corrected itself.

He found himself wishing Lydia was here. 

“Hey,” said Stiles, sweaty and panting, extending a hand to Dexter. As he shook it, his magic bristled suddenly, and he frowned. But he thought nothing of it. He squinted at his husband.

“You okay, babe? Want a beer?”

“I’m fine,” Derek lied. He was grateful lie detection only spread in one direction from werewolves to humans. “Just thirsty… yes, I’ll have a beer.”

“Eat up, boys,” said Lumen, adjusting her sunglasses.

Nobody spoke about the latest murder; everyone tacitly agreed it would ruin the idyllic summer day. After everybody had a leisurely swim in the blood-warm water, they got ready to follow Dexter to where the _Slice of Life_ was moored. Stiles had brought all the Mojito ingredients in a cooler bag and was guarding it like a terrier. Dexter no longer lived in the apartment, but had bought a rambling house in the suburbs after he and Lumen and Harrison returned from France. But his boat was still there, and lately, was used more for pleasure cruises than the dumping of guilty victims in the dark reaches of Bay Harbor. 

They were about to set off when they heard Deb and Quinn racing towards the quay. They had managed to get there at the last minute.

Half a mile out, sipping her virgin Mojito, Deb broke the silence.

“Just so everyone knows, they’re calling it the Storyteller. That’s all we know. You’ll hear the press conference and the TV stations going stir shit crazy over the next 24 hours on TV. So. There. So with that out of the way, let’s raise our glasses to family and new friendships!”

 

*

 

When they were finally alone and in bed together later that night, Stiles grabbed Derek’s shoulder.

“Okay, fess up Sourwolf. What are you scowling about? You’ve been slightly off ever since we went to the beach.”

“I don’t know, Stiles,” said the werewolf, blowing out his cheeks. “Maybe I’m still adjusting to the heat or something, but today, when I greeted Dexter…”

“What?”

“It’s like I got this weird scent. Of death. Like something’s off.”

“Shit,” said Stiles. “I thought it was nothing at first, but, I felt like a little tinge of something too.”

“Like he’s a supernatural?”

“No,” said Stiles, rubbing his forehead. “More like something supernatural had rubbed off on him.”

“You mean, like he’s been in contact with something? I did sense death, but then again, he is a forensic analyst. He must have been all over that grisly scene.”

“Yeah. Look… I trust him, Der. Not picking up any weird vibes.”

Derek nodded. “I mean, the two of us can pick up all sorts of shit with our bond.”

“I’ll do a protection ward on us… on the house just in case,” said Stiles. 

“You’re sweet,” said Derek. “I smelt the herbs you brought with from Beacon Hills. Stuffed in your socks.”

“I didn’t want to say anything, in case you thought I was being paranoid.”

“But you know I can smell anything.”

“Yeah, yeah, Big Bad,” Stiles said, stretching out on the bed. “Hold my hand and close your eyes.”

A little buzz of electricity flowed out of Stiles and a faint glow wrapped itself around the two men. Stiles’s voice was deep.

 

_Laudate Dominum!_

_Deus meus, Patre Omnipotentem,_

_Qui es in caelis,_

_Miserere nobis. Miserere nobis. Dona nobis pacem._

_Exaudi oriatonem meam,_

_Dominus Deus Sabaoth._

_Gloria in excelsis et Soli Deo Gloria._

 

He continued in English.

“Grant us protection. Send Your Blessing down on Derek and our Pack, and our families, on Harrison, Lumen, Debra and Joseph, and all our loved ones. Bless this house, and deliver us from Evil whatever form it may take. Amen.”

There was a loud bang, and Stiles and Derek felt themselves flung apart. Derek fell backwards and toppled onto the floor.

“Good Lord!” Stiles cried. “What the fuck was that?”

“God knows,” said Derek, rubbing his head. His fangs and claws had protruded. 

“That’s never happened with a ward before!” Stiles said, panting. “Can you sense anything around?”

Derek stood up and sniffed the air. His eyes flashed red briefly. “No. Nothing physical. But it felt like something was pushing us apart…”

“Precisely,” said Stiles. “But usually I would be able to place whether it’s malevolent.”

Derek scooted up to Stiles and put his arm round him. “Did you complete the ward?”

Stiles nodded. “I think so. Besides, usually the intent is enough. I’ll sprinkle some vervain around the house when no-one’s looking.”

“I like that you’re old school.”

Stiles frowned. “You know, it’s nearly St John’s Eve.”

“Fuck, yes, you’re right.”

They knew all to well what had happened that summer solstice eight years ago, when an evil spirit ran amok in Beacon Hills and Stiles and Derek nearly died. 

“Deaton says sometimes little imprints will remain… maybe it’s that. Fuck, I should have brought a copy of the Codex down.”

Derek sniffed Stiles’s hair, a habit he’d never tire of. “You know that codex backwards. You’re one of the most powerful sorcerers living today.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I think… I think I should go to Mass and Confession tomorrow. It’s been a while.”

“Why, Stiles? I mean… I’m not one to criticise your faith… but what do you have to feel guilty about?”

Stiles shook his head. “It’s not so much about that. It’s the gesture. It’s maybe psychological. You know I’m a dyed-in-the-wool Catholic. It just… it helps keep my magic cure.”

Derek sighed. “In a religion where magic is supposed to be evil.”

“Just the wrong kind of magic. Damn it, Derek, it works for me, okay?”

“Okay, okay,” said the werewolf, backing down. “You gonna go to the church round the corner?”

Stiles nodded, tapping furiously on his cellphone. “Ah, they have a website. Yup. Oh, good, they have 7 am morning services every day. I can walk to Mass tomorrow morning and be back in time to make breakfast.”

“Whatever makes you happy, oh husband of mine,” Derek said, pushing Stiles down and rolling on top of him, covering his mates neck with kisses.

They hadn’t made love in a while, and they had to be quiet. Stiles fumbled frantically at Derek’s briefs while the werewolf undressed his mate in a single, fluid motion. It was gentle, loving sex, not the rough animal passion that always unfurled itself on full moons. They covered each other in kisses; gazed deeply into each other’s eyes. There was no rush, there was jst the lilting pacific bond of two souls ever united. When Derek came, only the slightest tips of his fangs protruded, and a big smile erupted as Stiles felt him throb. 

Spent, Derek lay his head gently on his mate’s chest after Stiles had helped him clean up, ever the gentleman.

“Baby,” Derek sighed, “I didn’t even help you out… you’re still…”

“Derek, just feeling and seeing you in such bliss is enough. Just let me hold you. But if you insist you can wake me up with a blow job.”

Derek snorted. “You aren’t gonna get me up at 6 for that.”

“I thought I permanently get you up?” asked the brunet, pulling ever so gently at Derek’s ear.

“Touché, little Red, touché.”

“Now shut up and let me hold you, Big Bad Wolf.”

“I’m of the opinion that I do love you rather a lot, Dr Stilinski,” said Derek, smiling and closing his eyes.

“The feeling is quite reciprocated, it would seem, Dr Hale,” Stiles replied in a hot-potato accent.

Outside, a waxing moon hovered over the lights of Miami.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles attends Mass and undergoes the oddest Confession of his life.

 

Stiles was up early, and managed not to wake anybody when he slipped out. The morning was fresh and rosy, still unperturbed by the raging summer sun that would shortly ravage the city. 

The mass was brief and perfunctory. The priest was old and gaunt, a Jesuit, but with a pale, kindly face. There were no hymns. Apart from Stiles there were maybe ten people in the church, mostly elderly parishioners.

Stiles greeted the priest outside as he walked out and crossed himself.

“Hello, Father,” he said kindly.

The priest hesitated for a moment when he saw Stiles, but then held out a hand. His hands were icy as Sitles gripped them. Odd.

“Hello, young man. Are you a visitor?”

Stiles nodded. “Yes. From California.”

“Ah, the Golden State. Haven’t been there in years. What brings you to Miami?”

“Visiting family. Holiday.”

“And you came to early weekday Mass? It is good to see that young people still have time for the Church.”

“Of course,” said Stiles. “And a very nice homily too, if I may say so.”

“You’re most gracious. Is there anything I can do for you while you are here?”

“Actually,” said Stiles. “I would like to come to Confession. I should actually have arranged it before Mass, but I wasn’t sure…”

“Is that why you didn’t come up to receive the Eucharist?”

“Uh, yeah, partly” said Stiles, looking down. It hurt him that his marriage to Derek was not officially sanctioned by the Church: in its eyes, he was sinning Derek had groaned at him several times either he should find an officially gay-friendly church, or to stop being a moron since Communion was the central act of the Mass and Stiles should partake in it if it made him feel closer to God.

“Well, we can right now, if you like?”  


“Really?” said Stiles, perking up. “Awesome.”

“That Californian word,” said the priest, rolling his eyes. “I’ll get you in the confessional in five minutes.”

 

*

 

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been… five years, I think, since my last confession.”

“What ails you, my child?”

Stiles recited the usual things on his mind. Confession always made him babble. Random things like getting irritated with an old lady in a queue to being gruff with a patient who clearly was an incurable hypochondriac.

“…and then I argued with my husband and called him a dick…”

“Your _husband_?” asked the priest gently.

“Oh. Shit. Yeah. I’m… I’m bisexual, father, and have been in a relationship with my husband for eight years now. I’m married under secular law.”

“And why did you not divulge this earlier? You know this is a confidential conversation, surely.”

“Uh, surely you’d understand, Father, given the Church’s position…”

“Well, that’s a delicate situation. I’m not here to pronounce judgement, and I personally don’t think God spends His time damning people who clearly love each other. Of course another priest would tell you what you are doing is a grave sin. More importantly, have you been unfaithful to this person?”

“Good grief, no! Never!”

“Well, then leave it at that.”

“You’re rather liberal, Father.”

The priest smiled. Stiles had kept the curtain open. He always did during Confession; he never felt the need to hide his face.

The priest leaned towards the brunet. “Anything else before the Act of Contrition?”

“No, not really…”

“Come on, young man. It’s evident you’re no ordinary human.”

Stiles felt a ripple of magic course through him as the hairs stood up on the back of his neck.

“Father?”

“Is there anything, well,  _supernatural_ you’d like to speak of?”

“Huh?”

“Answer me directly. Do you practice magic?”

Stiles’s eyebrows arced.

“How do you know that?” he asked, breathless.

The priest smiled. “Thank God. I thought I was hallucinating. And the smell of wolf is heavy on you. You’re married to a werewolf, aren’t you? And you’re what they call a Red?”

“How the hell…?”

The priest held up a hand. “Relax. I just wanted to be sure. Because I sensed you last night, sensed a soul needing some comfort. Especially when there is evil lurking in Miami.”

“Okay, I’m officially freaked now.”

The priest smiled, revealing a brilliant set of fangs. They were not wolf fangs.

They were vampire fangs.

“Good God!” Stiles yelped, holding up his hands, the magic ready to shoot out. “ _Vade Satana!_ ” he shouted. 

But the magic wouldn’t come. 

The priest merely sighed and shook his head.

“Yes, I am a vampire, young man. But I swear to you unto God I am not evil, which is why you couldn’t blitz me. I’m sorry if I misled you. I couldn’t quite believe it when you walked into Mass this morning: it was an answered prayer, I had no idea how if what I had done had worked… And when you asked for confession… well, well, as they say how the Lord moves…”

“Uh, yeah,” said Stiles, confused, finally lowering his hands. 

“Take your time, my son, this must be a lot to digest. Given vampire-werewolf relations aren’t exactly cordial at the best of times.”

Stiles nodded. “I’ve never met a vampire that’s also a priest.”

“Not as rare as you think… I can explain.”

“Uh, ok. Sorry about trying to attack you. I know that my powers can’t harm innocent people… but how are you coping if I smell of wolf? You guys say werewolves normally smell bad. Sorry I called you Satan.”

The priest laughed. “I’m very old, Stiles. I was one of St Ignatius’s original followers. I wouldn’t say werewolves stink, it just came as a surprise, there’s not many of them in Florida. I’m Brian, by the way. No offence. Good to see you know the Rituale Romanum. I imagine you’ve exorcised some demons?”

“A few,” said Stiles. “Of course the Magisterium wouldn’t officially sanction them, but they were fucking grateful I bet.”

“Impressive. Now that we’ve established all this, let me absolve you, because this is still a Confession. Afterwards, I’d like to invite you for tea in the rectory if you like, I would really like your input on a few things.”

“Okayyyyy….”

“Relax, I can’t bite you, you know that. Being a werewolf’s mate would render you toxic to me anyway. I have my own, uh, ‘tea’ that I get from the blood bank. But let us pray.”

“Of course,” said Stiles, shaking a little, and the conversation swerved back into its original intention.

 

*

 

“I’ll be honest,” said Father Brian, pouring Stiles a cup as they sat in his lounge, “I had an uneasy feeling something was going down the day before the first murder happened. Then, I felt you and your husband’s presence, very clearly. I’m sorry, but I intruded last night… you were invoking a protection ward, weren’t you?”

“Uh… yes… how did you know?”

“Like I said, I’m very very old, so I spend a lot of time reading. And my age is why I can tolerate indirect sunlight and nobody really notices. I only need to feed every couple of months, and I never kill. But never mind that. I know a little magic, and sensed your ward. It was complete serendipity, so I sent a little spell of my own.”

“Was that what I felt?”

“Yes. Sorry if it frightened you. But it seems to have worked, because you came to Church. I recognised you instantly when you walked into Mass. You’re the renowned Red mated to the Alpha… Derek Hale I believe?”

Stiles nodded. “How do you know?”

“You’re one of the few packs vampires are terrified of. Well, at least my murderous kin. We have our own little underground news network. So anyway, I’m thrilled that I have some backup.”

“Backup?”

“Wherever I’ve been, Stiles, I’ve tried to live a good life… I may be undead, but I believe in good. It’s why I took holy orders. The vampire who turned me warned me I could use my powers for good or evil, but that good would be a hard road. I moved to Miami recently, and I thought I was the only vampire here. I like to think I can protect my city. But it seems there’s another one.”

“Another?”

“I’m certain you know all the details, Stiles. The victims were drained of blood, with the classic fang marks.”

“But Debra never…”

“Why do you think I chose a parish just round the corner from where the Captain of Miami Metro lives? I can pick up all the conversations, werewolves aren’t the only ones with acute hearing.”

“My God, you’re using Debra Morgan as your own police scanner. Why?”

“Let’s just say, I help a little sometimes. Nothing major, but if you peruse the tabloids you’ll note there have been the odd sightings of a bat-like creature foiling robberies or assaults.”

Stiles shook his head, smiling. “A vampire priest vigilante. I see a comic book series in that.”

“You’re funny. I don’t know what’s going to happen now, though. But I would strongly ask you to consider helping me, you and your husband. An Alpha werewolf would be very helpful if there’s a malevolent vampire playing havoc in the city. I’ve never really dealt with supernaturals before. Miami’s quite peaceful from that point of view, although it seems to be serial killer central.”

“I’ll ask Derek. But yes, I can’t really say no. Our pack are sworn protectors. Though I’ve never been asked by a vampire before to slay another vampire.”

“Thank you, Stiles. May I ask, what was your concern about Debra’s brother? I overheard, sorry.”

“I thought he may be… I don’t know.”

“Well, he is something. No, not a supernatural, I assure you. Maybe you should ask Debra about him, it’s not my place. I sense he could be of help. And not one’s usual kind of help.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Let’s say that Dexter is _special_. Debra knows the full story, and I’m certain with a little persuasion she’d confide in you. I mean, she knows your husband is a werewolf.”

“Seems like you know everything about us.”

“I am a bit of a fanboy of the Hale-McCall pack,” said the priest. “I’ve done my research. Now, I better bid you go, you have breakfast to prepare. And I promise I’ll stop listening in.”

“Th-thanks,” said Stiles, getting up.

“Oh, and Stiles?”

“Yes, Father?”

“For goodness sake, if it’s up to me, feel free to partake in Communion next time. Your soul is very pure.”

 

 

*

 

Stiles face flushed a little as he walked back to the Quinns’ house. 

“How was Mass?” said a yawning Derek, walking down the stairs and looking stupidly hot in his white boxers. 

“Derek, stop looking like a porn-star. It was... good... and very interesting."

Derek raised an Eyebrow of Doom. "Interesting?"

"I'll tell you about it later. More important things first. I'm famished. Since you’re up, you can help find the eggs and bacon. I hate searching around kitchens that aren’t mine.”

“It’s the fridge on the right, second shelf. And get out that Cheddar in the bottom drawer. I reckon it’s aged at least 12 months and I’m peckish. Debra said we could help ourselves to whatever. I’ll make coffee.”

One of the advantages of being married to a werewolf was that they could take inventory of an entire kitchen with a single sniff.

The delicious aroma of bacon, fried eggs and pancakes soon roused Debra and Quinn. Soon, they were amassed around the kitchen table, tucking in greedily.

“Can you stay forever?” asked Deb. “Nobody in this household can cook to save their ass.”

Derek grinned. “I taught Stiles, and if that can happen, anyone can learn to cook.”

“Hey!” said Stiles.

“Admit it, love, you used to be able to burn water.”

“Thou piercest mine heart,” said Stiles, grabbing his chest. “You’re washing up.”

 

 


End file.
